


Черноглазый Казак

by idrewacircle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Folk Music, Folklore, M/M, Trans Male Character, it's tolys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrewacircle/pseuds/idrewacircle
Summary: This was based off a song by the same name. Ivan, a young baker, has a chance encounter with Tolvydas, a Cossack man, and of course, falls in love. He spends months afterwards searching for Tolvydas, driven mad by the sound of his name, heard only in the hoofbeats of Ivan's horse.





	Черноглазый Казак

“Damn it,” Ivan hisses, glaring down at his horse’s hoof. “ _ Damn  _ it! What am I going to do?” 

Lacey knickers softly and bows her head, not entirely sure why she’s being yelled at, but certain she’d deserved it somehow. Ivan gives her neck a quick pat, then delicately wraps the nearly-naked, cracked hoof in a thin blanket and ties it off above the ankle, careful not to tie it too tightly lest he hurt her. It’s a shoddy bandage, even  _ he  _ can tell, but it’ll have to do for now. 

“Shh, I know, I know,” Ivan soothes, rubbing her neck in circles, running his fingers over the coarse fur the way he did when she was a filly. “Just wait here, I’ll be back soon, okay?” He ties her lead to a nearby oak tree. “I promise.” He kisses her nose and sets off on the dirt road, back from where he came.

They had been making the trip back from his elder sister’s wedding. Her husband is a trapper, tall, and broad, and fair, with the strength of two men and the heart of three. Choosy as Ivan is, even  _ he  _ had to admit that Matthew is perfect for Katya. There had been much merry-making and drinking and dancing and singing and celebrating, a whole week’s worth, but then the time came to bid the new couple goodbye, and Ivan rode off back home after giving his sister a kiss and his new brother-in-law a warm hug. 

He had made it to about the halfway point of the journey when Lacey stumbled on a hillside and lost her front left shoe to a hidden foxhole. A  _ massive  _ problem, seeing as both Katya’s and Ivan’s towns are easily a week away by foot. To ride Lacey home would almost certainly cripple her, as there were still nails in her cracked hoof that Ivan couldn’t remove with his bare hands. To leave her here would kill her. 

But, as luck would have it, not twenty minutes ago Ivan had passed a small camp of Cossacks, and with all the horses among them, someone was bound to be a farrier. So Ivan hikes back along the path, wiping the sweat from his brow as he went, careful to mind the rocks and fallen branches along the way. 

* * *

The camp is neither too large nor too small, bustling with activity as no less than forty people go about their day’s work. A gaggle of young women sit nearest the edge of the camp, eight children between the five of them, and they chatter to each other, laughing like chickens as they gossip in the way only mothers can. A hush falls over the group once they see Ivan coming closer, a brief moment of silence. They stare at him, harsh, protective gazes, then begin whisper to one another, too quiet for Ivan to hear, too foreign for him to understand. Ivan pays them no mind. 

Thirty paces away, a young man sits on a stool by a fire pit, a few piles of branches and several dozen logs at his feet. Probably resting after getting the firewood, Ivan figures. In any case, he might know where to find the clan’s farrier. 

“Excuse me?” Ivan calls as he steps into the clearing. The Cossack jumps up from the wooden stool, whipping around with a wide-eyed look, hand to his knife. “Oh, sorry, sorry!” Ivan says, holding up his hands, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“What do you want?” the man asks nervously, shoulders still tensed and stance wide, ready for a fight. He’s young, probably early 20s, with long chestnut hair tied in a braid, leather boots, umber colored trousers, and a teal long sleeved cotton shirt. 

“My horse lost a shoe, I wanted to know if there was someone here that could help me.” Ivan pulls out his coin purse, bounces it to show the man its fullness. “I can pay him.”

The man scrutinizes him, no doubt wary of Ivan’s formidable height, glancing from his messy hair to his sweaty cotton shirt and down to his muddied cloth boots and torn pants. He nods. “I can do it. Wait here.” The man strides deeper into the camp, leaving Ivan to awkwardly stand, awaiting his return, ever cognizant of the eyes on him, the other Cossacks keeping watch for any signs of trickery. 

The man returns a minute later with a moderately sized leather satchel and jug of water. “Where is your horse?”

“Out east, about an hour’s walk,” Ivan points out through the bushes, and the man nods again. 

“Lead the way.” 

* * *

The pair make their way back to Lacey, carefully due to the treacherous terrain, and slowly as Ivan was already exhausted by the walk out to the camp. Despite being a shepherd, Ivan doesn’t do well in the summer heat; partially due to his size, partially due to his clothing, partially due to his dislike for exercise in general. The Cossack doesn’t seem to mind, even offering Ivan sips from his water jug when the two have to stop and let Ivan catch his breath. He’s rather handsome, with tanned and freckled skin, toned arms, high cheekbones, dark, glistening, forest green eyes. Probably married to a very pretty girl. 

It takes them nearly two hours to make it to Lacey, who whinnies with delight when she spots her owner. She steps back anxiously when she sees the stranger, eyes wide and nostrils flared, but he holds his hand out for her to sniff, then pets her nose, whispering quiet affirmations to her. The man strokes her for several minutes, sliding his hands along her side until he can can get to her front left leg. Ivan watches with raised eyebrows and a half smile. Lacey is a good horse, fine and strong and smart, but terribly shy. It had taken her two weeks to get used to Katya, and the poor thing was still terrified of Ivan’s younger sister, Natashka. But this Cossack, five minutes with him and Lacey is nickering softly, snuffling his pockets in search of apples or carrots. Just amazing! The man picks up her leg, still soothing her with praises, and gingerly unwraps her hoof. He clucks his tongue. 

“This is nasty. I can fix it for now, but you need to have a doctor to look at her once you get to your town.” He fishes a hammer and an oddly shaped pair of pliers out of his satchel, then begins to work on removing the shoe. Ivan sits on a nearby stump as he watches the man go about his work. He moves with purpose, but not  _ too  _ swiftly, careful not to startle Lacey, constantly whispering to her, soothing her. 

“How long have you been a farrier?” 

The man yanks at the shoe, once, twice, three times, and it clatters to the ground. “I’m not.” 

“Really?” Ivan asks, bringing his hand up to his cheek. “You’re so good with her! I’ve never seen Lacey warm up to someone so quickly!”

“Thank you.” The man tosses the tools to the ground, then pulls out a small knife and starts scraping away at the debris in Lacey’s foot. Even with his own very, very,  _ very _ limited knowledge of horseshoeing, Ivan can tell the man is being incredibly gentle. “My father was a stable master, and I learned from him.”

“My father is a smith, but I could never learn anything from him!” Ivan laughs, and feels a bit dizzy when the Cossack smiles. “He tried for years, but it just wasn’t for me. I can still barely use a grindstone. My mother, she’s a baker, and so am I.”

“What do you bake?” The man pauses, pushes sweaty hair out of his eyes. Beautiful eyes, shimmering eyes, soft and kind and sweet eyes. It takes Ivan a moment to remember he’d been asked a question.

“Mostly bread, the occasional cake.” Ivan takes a swig from his own water jug, a sudden bout of dry mouth. “I baked my sister’s wedding cake. It was massive! Four tiers, buttercream frosting, it took me two days to finish.”

“That sounds delicious,” the stranger says, then pulls out a small hammer, a horseshoe, and some new nails. He carefully lines the shoe up, angling it just so. “Buttercream is my favorite.” The man drives a nail in, working quickly to place the second, and then the third. Lacey whinnies softly.

“Well, maybe you could come down to my shop some day, I could make you some,” Ivan winks.

The man chuckles, low and soft, and his eyes flick up to meet Ivan’s. “If I ever find myself in your town, I’ll be sure to stop by,” he murmurs, and Ivan could swear his heart stops, heavy in his chest. The man drops his gaze back to Lacey’s hoof, and uses the pliers again to clinch the hoof on. “I’m done, by the way.”

Ivan has to swallow twice before he can speak again. “Wow,” he gasps, and tries to subtly wipe a bit of sweat from his forehead. “You’re so fast!” Ivan fishes out his coin purse and begins to count out the silver, but the stranger holds up his hand.

“That’s far too much. Two pieces is all I ask.” 

“Two pieces?” Ivan asks incredulously, brows furrowed. “Your work is worth at least eight, plus another five for coming all the way out here with me, and another two more for doing it so quickly. Please, take fifteen for your time.” He holds out a fistful of coins.

“Two pieces,” the man repeats, shaking his head. “Oh, and a ride back to my camp, if you can.”

“That’s absurd. Ten, at the minimum.” 

“Two.”

“Eight.”

“ _ Two _ .”

“Six, and that’s my final offer,” Ivan says firmly, folding his hands across his chest. The Cossack laughs, and his dark eyes twinkle in the sunlight. Yes, he’s definitely betrothed to some very pretty girl, probably the chief’s daughter. 

“Fine. Six, and a ride.”

“Done!” Ivan grins, clapping his hands together. To be frank, he was going to give the stranger a ride home anyway. It would be only right after making him come out all this way, and of course, Ivan couldn’t help wanting to spend more time with the man. 

* * *

The pair spend the entire all-too-short ride back chatting, swapping tales of their lives, their occupations, their friends, their families, their tribes. At one point, Ivan nearly falls off of Lacey in a fit of laughter, but the stranger is quick to grab his waist and hold him steady. Ivan almost  _ swoons _ .

But the ride is too short, and so is the day, and soon they approach the camp once more, night wrapping her heavy shawl around them.

“Thank you for the lift, traveller,” the young man winks, hopping off of Lacey with a grunt.

“I—yes,” Ivan stutters. “Thank you for coming to my aid. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“It was my pleasure.” Ivan can only watch as the stranger stretches to give Lacey one last pat, then begins to trot back to his camp, satchel jingling with tools and silver. Somehow, Ivan feels an immense sadness, air heavy and thick in his throat, pressing down on his chest, suffocating him. His heart aches, a dull throb, and he’s not exactly sure why.

“Wait!” Ivan calls out, just before the Cossack steps into the darkness. “What is your name, young man?”

“My name?” The stranger laughs. His eyes twinkle like precious gems. “You will hear my name in the hoofbeats of your horse.” He turns on his heel and strides into the camp, disappearing amongst the tents.

* * *

For weeks, Ivan mulled over the stranger’s cryptic words. He thought of them constantly; while baking bread for the day’s sales, while collecting herbs from his garden, while listening to his mother prattle on about “needing to settle down”, while saying his prayers, while falling asleep, while dreaming. They danced around in his head, and so did the Cossack man, eyes green like hemlock leaves, soft and deep, following him, calling him. Sometimes he wakes in tears, a heavy weight on his chest, heart beating in his ears. He agonizes over their meaning. 

Then one day, as he’s riding Lacey to pick up some rye flour from the next town over, he hears it. 

It’s faint, so quiet he has to strain his ears to hear, a whisper.  _ A name _ . He urges Lacey to walk faster, into a trot, into a gallop, into a sprint. The name grows louder, boils into a roar, but it’s still muffled, unclear, like someone speaking underwater.  _ Kolya? Alyosha? Borya? Sasha? _ He rides Lacey all across the countryside, until the flour and the town is forgotten, until all that’s left is the name, distorted and beautiful. By the time he’s finally had enough, it’s dark, so dark he can hardly see his hand before his face. 

_ Tolvydas _ , the hooves say.

Ivan nearly falls off his horse. 

That night, Ivan dreams of the man again. He sits on the edge of a lake, his feet dangling just above the water’s surface, swirling beneath him. He turns to face Ivan, and begins to speak. Slow and low and quiet, lilting like a song, or a prayer, dark eyes shining. The water churns. What language he’s speaking, Ivan doesn’t know, doesn’t even recognize, but he understands the meaning.  _ Come quickly. Come find me _ . The stranger gives a wink, and dives in, disappearing beneath crashing, frothing waves. Ivan wakes to the sound of thunderous hoofbeats.

* * *

The next day is a rough one. Baking dozens of loaves of bread for the town is difficult on so little sleep but somehow, Ivan manages. As he kneads the dough, all he can think of is the stranger, and the even stranger name. He’s never heard of anyone named  _ Tolvydas _ before, and yet, he’s certain of it.  _ Tolvydas _ . He rolls it around in his mouth, lets it slide down his throat, into his blood, spreading its limbs and relaxing in his chest, wrapping warm fingers around his heart.

_ Tolvydas _ .

Ivan hears it every time he rides Lacey, a steady chant of  _ Tolvydas, Tolvydas, Tolvydas, Tolvydas _ from beneath her hooves. He whispers it to himself reverently, as though speaking the name will make the dark-eyed Cossack man appear before him. He rides through meadows and down hillsides, over rivers and into towns, as often as he can, just so he can hear it, hear the name  _ Tolvydas _ . 

* * *

“Vanya, are you alright?” 

“Hm?” Ivan glances up at Katya from the counter. “Yes why?”

“You’ve been staring at nothing for a really long time. I’m starting to worry for you.” She runs her fingers through the ends of her hair, a nervous habit she’s carried since childhood. Katya had come down a few days ago to announce her pregnancy and been nothing but anxious the whole visit. Ivan can’t really blame her; new motherhood is rough. He forces a smile, and hopes she doesn’t notice how it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Nonsense, I’m fine. How are you? Did you eat yet?”

“Please don’t change the subject.” Katya reaches across the bakery’s counter to hold his hand. “What’s happened with you? Is it a girl?”

“A girl?” Ivan chokes. He swallows his guffaw, then begins stroking her wrist with his thumb. “No, no girl.”

“What do you keep saying to yourself? Mama told me you whisper all the time. Do you need a doctor?” Katya carries on, building up steam, not letting him get in a word edgewise. “Because you know, Matthew was telling me about a man in his family, his third cousin twice removed, or maybe fourth cousin, but anyway,  _ he _ had a sickness, a terrible, horrific sickness, which started out with hearing people that weren’t there, and then seeing them, awful, disgusting  _ monsters _ , and then speaking to them, and then—”

“Katerina.” Ivan leans in closer, locks eyes with her. “I am  _ fine _ .” 

Katya’s lower lip wobbles, and he can tell she wants badly to keep going, but she only sighs. “I just want what’s best for you, Vanya. We all want that.”

“I know.” He pulls her in for an awkward hug, counter jutting into his belly, but neither seems to mind. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“I will always be here for you.”

“I know.”

“Because if it  _ is _ a girl,” Katya says, pulling back, “if she can’t see how handsome and sweet you are, she doesn’t deserve you.” 

Ivan chuckles. “Thank you, but I told you, I don’t have a girl.”

“Oh. Do you want to meet one? Because several of my girlhood friends are still unmarried, and I know at least two of them had crushes on you growing up, and—”

“I don’t want to marry your friends!” he cries.

“I’m not saying you have to marry them! Just go out with one!” Katya gives his chest a shove. “Mama wants you married before she goes, and I do too.”

“Good, then I have 20 years.” 

“Vanya!” 

* * *

The Cossack comes again in his dreams that night. He perches precariously in the branch of a willow tree, chewing on an apple.

“Who are you?” Ivan calls to him. The man smiles, and takes another bite. Ivan tries again. “What do you want?” 

The man stands and walks along the edge of the branch, then pulls himself up to the next one, gripping the apple between his teeth. He sits, then bites off another chunk.

“Why are you doing this?” Another crunch of apple, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Ivan can’t clenching his fists, frustrated tears threatening to fall, the mocking aura of the stranger like a foul stench. “I can’t get your name out of my chest. It’s in my ears all the time. I hear it when wake, when I sleep, when I eat, when I dream. Over and over, just constantly  _ chanting _ . How can I get it to stop?” he begs.

The man stops mid bite, smiles wide, wide like a wolf. “Find me.” Then he stands once again from his perch, walks along the edge, until the man is just above. He leaps.

Ivan wakes with a scream.

* * *

That day, Ivan resolves to finally finish what he started. He kisses his father and mother and sisters goodbye, promises to return shortly, and rides off. 

Katya’s wedding had been months ago, when the days were long and warm, but winter is nearly here, bringing freezing temperatures and deadly blizzards. The path Ivan had used in spring is nearly hidden with nearly a foot of snow, but he soldiers on, urging Lacey over rivers and valleys, through the hillside, listening to the whispers of  _ Tolvydas  _ beneath her hooves. 

The first day is fruitless, as is the next, and the next. Devastating winter storms hinder his progress, and at some point, he loses the trail. He’s thankful to all above that Lacey is a Konik, and thus hardly minds the snow, whereas he has to build immense fires from scavenged wood just to stay warm enough to sleep. 

The stranger comes to him every night now, running just ahead of him, darting through forests and springing over rivers, laughing all the while. Ivan gives chase, but he’s too big, too slow, and can only watch as the man gallops away. He wakes in tears. From the cold or the dream, he isn’t sure.

* * *

By the third week, Ivan begins to give up hope. Food runs low, and even Lacey seems to tire of their endless walking. They hadn’t seen a single sign of humans since they began, and the sky is so dark Ivan can’t even orient himself. In fact, he’s not even sure where they are, much less how close the Cossack camp is. He prays as they ride, the sound of  _ Tolvydas, Tolvydas, Tolvydas  _ in his ears, urging him on. He prays for warmth, for strength, for peace, for safety.

He prays for life. 

* * *

On day 20, the rations run out.

  
  
  


Lacey trips and loses a shoe.

  
  
  


Ivan weeps.

  
  
  


He’d been foolish. This wasn’t a quest for love, it was a suicide mission. He should have just listened to his mother, to his sisters, and stayed home and baked. There was no reason for him to leave, he had everything he needed back in his village. He’s stupid, ungrateful, and because of him, now Lacey will perish with him. He’s robbed his parents of a son, of even having a body for the funeral. How they had all begged him not to go, how they’d cried and pleaded with him, but no, he didn’t listen, did he? He just had to run off, had to chase some mystical Cossack he’d met once. And now what? He’s going to freeze to death in a snowbank, all for a man. Pitiful.

Ivan lays down next to Lacey, curls into her flank, closes his eyes. Strangely, he feels almost hot. Must be hypothermia.

“Hey!”

Just another voice on the wind. Maybe he really is sick after all. 

“Hey!” the voice yells again. Ivan floats, out of himself, above the ground, above his body. High and weightless, a feather on the breeze. He’s warm and cozy and sleepy, drifting in the wind, soaring over the trees, over the clouds, up and up and up and—

“Wake up!” Someone grabs him by the shoulder, jerking him back and forth. “You need to wake up!” Ivan dimly registers a blanket being wrapped around his body, then a second. Stinging spreads through his fingers and toes and up his limbs as they gradually heat back up. His head aches terribly. Ivan manages to blink once, twice, three times to clear the ice from his eyes, looking around blearily through the swirling snow. Finally, they focus, allowing him to see his savior.

“Oh,” he laughs faintly. “It’s you.”

“What?”

“Tolvydas.”

The man nearly drops him in shock. “I— how do you know my name?”

“I heard it,” Ivan whispers back. “In the hoofbeats of my horse.”


End file.
